Emma stared at the creature in stunned silence. It shifted into a new voice, a wet sucking noise.

"Hello? Wait. Just now. Sal-vay vi-so-to-ray. That's Latin, right?"

The creature looked up at her, frowned, then stared off into the distance for a few seconds.

"Hello." it said finally.

"Hello. Hello!" Emma fell to her knees, unable to hold Dean's weight any longer. "Hello!". Some part of her was filled with joy to be able to communicate with another creature, to know that they were not completely alone in this place.

The creature paused for another long moment, constructing its response carefully, its lips moved silently as it thought. "He sick. We fix." it pointed at the building behind it. "There."

Emma shook her head, "Uh, darkness. Dark? Darkness hurt him" she pointed at the rapidly fading tendril of darkness that was floating near the door, then pointed at Dean.

The creature shook its head, it closed its eyes for a second, lips moving rapidly. "We darkness". It turned its head to Dook, told it something using only its fingers. Dook held up a paw at Emma wait, and disappeared into the building once more. He came out soon after holding a ball of blackness. He held it very carefully, cradling it in his arms like an uncle holding a new-born baby. Darkness billowed from the ball, filing the air around Dook, spilling out and over the ground, off the walkway, into the water. Liquorice dry ice. Dook knelt next to the old creature who reached out with the white stick and touched it to the sphere. The darkness subsided, revealing the object within. A perfect sphere of white porcelain, almost identical to the one Jeremiah had broken to protect them a few days earlier.

"We darkness" the creature repeated. It touched the sphere again, and a cloud of blackness billowed out, and Dook reverently took the sphere back inside the temple.

"You control it" said Emma, "it's some sort of magic, not a demon?"

The creature flicked yes with its finger, but with the other palm facing down. maybe, yes. "I mage. We fix him" it pointed at Dean again.

"Fix him" Emma nodded, "but I come"

The old creature, the mage, slowly unfolded its legs and rose to its feet. Emma allowed two of the others to help her carry Dean and they entered the building together. Inside, it was cool and blessedly dim. Dook had climbed a narrow stair to the second floor where he was returning the sphere to a chandelier-like platform hung from the ceiling. Holes in the bottom of the platform distributed the dark mist that still flowed from the sphere, showering it the room, bathing it in even darkness.

"How will you fix him?" said Emma in a hushed voice. Something about the cool darkness, the shape of the building and the care Dook had taken with the sphere told her his was a sacred space. It would be rude to talk loudly. The walls had been painted with patterns and symbols, A large statue was placed at each corner of the building. God or leaders, she thought. A low, circular deck surrounded each statue, Emma saw a few creatures sitting or lying on these decks, eyes closed or looking up at the statues.

The mage directed the two who were carrying Dean to lay him in an empty spot on one of the decks. The rest of the creatures arranged themselves around the trio in a semi-circle. The mage knelt next to him and took the thin porcelain stick from its mouth. It laid the stick on Dean's head. Dean shifted then, writhing uncomfortably, trying to dislodge it from where it was held on his forehead. The creature turned to Emma, "blood." it said, and pointed at her.

"I showed him earlier" she said, and pointed at Dook who had descended from the second floor and was heading back toward them.

"You blood. Fix him", it mimed cutting its hand, holding it over Dean's body.

"Again? What it is with you lot and blood" she muttered. "How much blood?" she asked.

The old mage mimed cutting its palm again, and counted "one...two...three"

"Fine, if it will help Dean", Emma walked over to one of the creates that was watching them in silence. She held out her hand.

"Do you mind doing it for me" she said, "I don't think I'll be able to do it to myself." She held her palm up to the hook on the staff it was carrying and half closed her eyes, wincing. She heard the mage say something softly in it's own language and felt a line of pain across her palm. She opened her eyes. Blood was pooling in her palm from a thin cut. She felt faint, but returned to Dean's side.

"'Here, blood." she said, holding out her palm to the old creature. It took her hand in its own and guided it over Dean's head, laying the porcelain stick on his forehead again, then she twisted Emma's hand, letting the blood fall onto his face. The blood spat and sizzled where it touched the porcelain stick, Dean screamed, a high, unpleasant sound quite unlike his voice, his body shaking and bucking. The old creature pressed the stick firmly against his forehead, using both hands to stop him from dislodging it.

"Is this normal? He's in pain!" said Emma, the creature ignored her and began to make a low humming noise in its throat, rising and falling to an irregular rhythm. The other onlookers joined in, one by one, stamping their staffs on the wood floor as they hummed. Hmmmaaaa...Haaaammmhhh...Hmmmaaah...Haaaammhhh

Dean's body convulsed inhumanly, his limbs twisting and stretching wildly. His eyes fluttered open and rolled back to show only the whites. His jaw stretched open then shut with a clack.

"He's awake, stop! You'll kill him" shouted Emma.

The old creature ignored her, its eyes focused on Dean, the humming increased in speed, the knocking of the staffs on the floor accelerating and loosing rhythm, rising to a mad chattering noise that echoed throughout the tall open room. Frothy pink blood began leaking from the corner of Dean's mouth. He screamed again, a gasping, bubbling scream that sprayed blood over the mage's furred arms. It was his own voice now, Emma recognised it even in this tortured form.

"Stop! STOP! He's DYING" screamed Emma. She grabbed at the old creature's arm. It threw her off with surprising strength and turned to look at her, without loosening its grip on the white porcelain stick that it held on Dean's forehead. It spoke, its voice droning as it merged with the humming in its throat. "Yes. We kill. He sick. We fix."

"No!" Emma grabbed for the porcelain stick, wrenching it from Dean's head. She felt something flow through her. It travelled up her arm, through her heart, then out into every nerve in her body, filling them with molten lead. She felt the pain fill her, overfill her, felt it pushing out at her edges like a balloon about to burst. She fell to the floor unconscious.